


Gabriel and the Sofa Of Sin

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Another thing I was dared to write, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Aziraphale's sofa, Crack, Crack Fic, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, The Sofa of Sin (Good Omens), This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, abused furniture, comedy porn, comedy smut, dubious stains, embarrassed Aziraphale, oblivious Gabriel, soggy upholstery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Gift forExMarks, and others from the Good Omens NSFW Party Fun Room on facebook, for the inspiration of this prompt. A couple of us are writing our take on this, here’s mine. Obviously, NSFW. Gabriel pays a visit to the bookshop, and Aziraphale can’t help but sit and stare at him on the sofa, and think of all the things that poor sofa has seen, all the dubious stains on the upholstery, all the sexy demonic shenanigans…. Poor Aziraphale.EDIT - see end notes for link to a fabulous sequel by Lyowyn!NEW!Quefish did a (very) drunk live reading of this on youtube, she also did "Squid Fight" beforehand in the same video, so I set the link to begin at the start of this fic reading, but feel free to watch it allHERE
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 328
Collections: Crack Fic Comedy Porn





	Gabriel and the Sofa Of Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ExMarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExMarks/gifts), [anaeifly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaeifly/gifts).



If anyone started a new Olympic sport of the 30 Minutes Nonchalant Innocent Sit, Aziraphale might have been a contender, but it was ten minutes in and he was struggling, he was definitely flagging, and a commentator might have started making comments speculating about if he had what it took to make it through the full half hour.

Did he have the self-control to maintain that quietly innocent expression and polite countenance for another twenty minutes? The Crowd sat silent, on the edge of their seats, the judges watching for any flicker of uncertainty, any twitch of an eyelid that might mark the start of his cracking and caving in, to collapsing on his knees to the threadbare carpet and confessing his every sordid sin to the Archangel Fucking Gabriel.

Because that was who was currently occupying Aziraphale’s sofa in the bookshop, prattling on about tedious heavenly details with an American-esque enthusiasm.

“And of course we have to keep the rest of the cherubim drilling daily, they’ve grown deplorably sloppy these past couple of thousand years. You really should come up top and take part in training now and then, Aziraphale. Although I have to say, you do seem to be a little trimmer than last time I saw you, taking regular exercise are you?”

Aziraphale tried not to squirm. A regular daily routine of abdominal crunches attained through vigorous horizontal jogging with a certain demon probably had something to do with it. His mind was drifting as Gabriel’s monotonous voice washed over him, his eyes locked on a slightly darker stain on the fabric throw over the ancient leather sofa.

Once he’d noticed it, he couldn’t unsee it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Was that one from the other week when Crowley had been taking him from behind, while he knelt backwards on the sofa, Crowley standing behind him, thrusting in and out with wild abandon? The resulting mess would have slipped out afterwards, but they’d moved again and ended up against a bookshelf, then the front desk, and had forgotten to miracle away the sofa mess before retiring upstairs.

Gabriel was sitting _right next to it._

Aziraphale felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine and he tried not to shift uneasily in his seat. The imaginary commentator let loose with a whoop from the commentary box, and expounded on the complexities of angelic discomfort and body language. The crowd murmured in quiet appreciation.

Gabriel noticed that the throw had slipped slightly and reached out to set it straight on the back of the sofa. Aziraphale imagined Crowley’s hands bunched up in the fabric as he hissed expletives while the angel sucked him to new heights of ecstasy. His fingers twitched in his lap. Gabriel waffled on.

Aziraphale’s mind ambled off on a tangent, of seeing Crowley, naked save for the throw wrapped loosely around his elegantly lean torso, still languid in the afterglow, throwing a lazy smile at the blissed-out angel on the couch as he went through to the kitchenette to get them both something to drink. The throw just falling off one bony shoulder slightly, revealing a scandalous glimpse of alabaster skin dusted with freckles. He dug his fingernails into his palms in an effort to clamp down on the thought.

Our imaginary commentary box exploded in a bustle of frenzied discussion on the grasping fists and conjecture about the angel’s poker face capabilities. The crowd drew a suspenseful gasp.

Gabriel sat back and crossed his legs, spouting some drivel about the issues with flaming sword production from the heavenly forges, while Aziraphale’s mind wandered to Crowley’s lips wrapped around his cock as he reclined on the settee, sinfully skilled serpentine tongue twirling in a mind melting spiral around his entire length and working him up and down until he exploded in shuddering gasps.

He shouldn’t be thinking all this.

The angel carefully crossed his legs as well.

The gasps from the imaginary crowd almost broke through to reality. Gabriel paused in his diatribe, looked puzzled for a moment, shook his head and carried on. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of three days ago when he’d been kneeling on the sofa, his upper body resting over the back, while Crowley flogged his buttocks until they were warm, pink and tender, and then kissed them all over while reaching under him to take him in hand and stroke him to completion. Afterwards he’d returned the favour by deep throating the demon, gag reflex be damned, until Crowley had screamed so loud that dust had fallen from the light fixtures.

Another bead of sweat trickled down the angel’s temple. He bit his lip. The judges made deliberate pencil notes on the score cards with disapproving looks. The Crowd was on the edge of their seats, the commentator lost for words at this development.

Gabriel’s diatribe continued unabated, Aziraphale tried to smile and nod in what sounded like all of the right places, twenty eight minutes in and he was so close to a personal best, until Gabriel leant forward ready to stand, his hands braced on the edge of the sofa to propel himself upwards, and he recoiled one of his hands with a faintly disgusted look on his face.

“Oh, there’s a damp spot here. Is your roof leaking, Aziraphale?” He looked up, curiously.

Aziraphale twitched, and that was it – the full on squirm, both buttocks, full butt wriggle. The judges frowned and made more notes. The commentator gasped, the crowd let out a sigh of disappointment. A squirm was worth a loss of at least 2 points on a good day.

Oh yes, the damp patch from this morning. Aziraphale barely had time to try to think up an excuse before he noticed Gabriel’s horrified look, not at him, but over his shoulder toward the stairwell to the flat above the shop behind him. Aziraphale stood nervously.

As if mounted on a turntable, Aziraphale slowly swivelled around to look behind him, taking in at the same time as Gabriel, the sight that had just alighted at the bottom of the stairs, sleep-drunk, hair a dishevelled scarlet mess, yawning and stretching in a serpentine fashion as only he knew how, a stark-bollock-naked Crowley.

Gabriel’s mouth fell open. Aziraphale whimpered.

Crowley blearily blinked his eyes more open and took in the scene.

“Uh, hi guys, sorry I’m late. Y’know if you wanted a threesome you only had to _say_ …”

Gabriel’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, lost for words.

“… I mean, you _are_ on the sex sofa after all, Gabe.” Crowley winked with a sarcastic grin.

Gabriel looked at his hand in renewed shocked disgust. He looked up at the demon, then to the furiously blushing principality between them, agape. Crowley sauntered over to his angel, and snaked a hand around his waist, licking his lips and grinning at the archangel’s discomfiture. He allowed his hand to slide down to squeeze Aziraphale’s buttock sharply, drawing a sudden squeak from the cherub.

Our imaginary commentator goes wild over this sudden unexpected tag-in from a teammate saving the day and leading Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality and wielder of the flaming sword, helping him ascend to a new personal best, and trouncing the competition soundly. Spontaneous standing ovation from the crowd, the judges grudgingly hold up their marks, a 5.9 across the board for technical ability, and a row of 6.0 and 5.9 marks for artistic interpretation.

Gabriel, red faced, stormed to the door, paused dramatically on the threshold, shook a furious finger at the pair of them, opened his mouth to say something, thought for a moment, snapped it shut again, and strode off down the street.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale in for a kiss. “Maybe I should do that more often, Angel. That’s one way to get rid of your boss.” He tugged Aziraphale over to the sofa, snapped his clothes away and pushed him gently back onto the old throw with a seductive smile. “Time for round two?”

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful Lyowyn has taken on duties for a hilarious sequel [ "Round Two" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914319), which is also the first gift fic I've recieved. Thank you so much to my new demonic partner in crime! :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Round Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914319) by [Lyowyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyowyn/pseuds/Lyowyn)
  * [Drunk Storytime - Two Stories by GayDemonicDisaster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975977) by [Quefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quefish/pseuds/Quefish)




End file.
